With a contented sigh, he walked to the door of his mill house and turned the key in the lock. He was hoping for an early night. He needed to make some kind of headway with the Suzanne Holland case, and he wouldn’t do that if he was overtired. He thought of the blood at her house, the body gone and no witnesses to what happened. His contentment disappeared.
He sat down at the kitchen table. On the top of a pile of manila files lay the forensic report, giving details of the blood spatter analysis. He was certain that this evidence in particular pointed to foul play, and not an accident, as had been suggested at the time. Although it had happened some eighteen months before, the case had never been closed. Now Superintendent Ruth Crooke had received a request from the ACC to bring it to a conclusion. It seemed that an online group had taken it up and were running with all kinds of weird speculation. It was now the subject of some considerable comment on the Internet. It had become known that the missing woman, Suzanne, had been the wife of Tom Holland, who had died in a light aircraft crash shortly after she went missing. People were suddenly calling for answers and demanding that the authorities do more. It was Jackman’s unhappy lot to take up the case again before it went viral.
Jackman heaved an irritated sigh and stared at the thick file in front of him. Bloody media! On top of all that, it seemed that Suzanne Holland might have led some sort of double life. She’d certainly had a chequered past. Every avenue the detectives explored produced more questions than answers.
Jackman closed the report and yawned loudly. He badly needed sleep. Suzanne Holland would have to wait until tomorrow.
His brain, however, had other ideas. At three in the morning, Jackman found himself pacing the bedroom floor. He hated investigations that had no structure. Was the woman dead? Had she wandered off after having some awful accident? Had she been abducted? Apparently she’d been something of a good-time girl but their investigations had unearthed no vengeful wife or jealous lover lurking in the shadows. She had been briefly married before, and her ex was now living a mostly intoxicated life as a holiday rep in Spain. Reading the old case files, Jackman found that no one had actually spoken to this man. He made a mental note to get someone to double check this first thing.
Jackman flopped back down on the bed.
Then there was another problem.
Marie was a positive, energetic person, but right now she looked eaten up with concern over McLean’s imminent return to full duties. Jackman trusted Marie’s judgement, and if she was worried, then he was worried too. Perhaps he should pull a few strings and keep Carter away from the Holland case. If Ruth Crooke had her way, Carter would stay behind a desk for all eternity. He had no idea why the two officers disliked each other so much, and did not intend to ask them. The feud had been running forever, and he really did not want to get involved.
For the first time in years they were fully staffed. CID had undergone a major overhaul over the past few months, but finally things seemed to be calming down. The Saltern-le-Fen detectives now worked together, allocating jobs to whoever had the smallest backlog on their desk. At last Jackman and Marie had several good officers to call on, and Ruth Crooke had told him to use whoever he needed.
His long-serving detectives, Max and Charlie, would work on the Holland disappearance, plus DC Robbie Melton, a new and very welcome transfer from a neighbouring division. Robbie’s previous partner had been seriously injured on duty and after she left, he had been lost, unable to settle back into his old job. The change of scenery had worked wonders for him. Robbie had developed a real affinity for Marie Evans, and she liked him. He was slightly built and often wore jeans and a hoodie, but he was actually well into his thirties, despite looking almost like a teenager. His forte was blending in on the streets. He prided himself on the fact that no one ever gave him a second glance. In fact, Robbie was a very astute and intelligent detective.
Then there was DC Rosie McElderry. She was pretty bogged down in a drugs case at present, but could still lend a hand. And of course, they had good old PC Gary Pritchard.
Now for the downside — DS Carter McLean.
Jackman crawled back into bed and pulled the duvet over himself.
No, he would not put Carter on the Holland case. There were other investigations running that Carter could work on. Looking into the seedier side of his dead friend’s missing wife was a definite no-no. He closed his eyes. At least that should make Marie slightly happier. He hoped so, because he didn’t like the preoccupied, anxious expression he saw on his trusted sergeant’s face these days. He needed the old Marie back.
CHAPTER THREE
‘Marie?’ It was three in the morning.
She recognised Carter’s voice immediately. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Apart from being unable to sleep and worried sick, I’m fine.’
‘That’s not surprising, now, is it? Big day tomorrow, my man. Back on the front line.’ She fought off sleep and spoke as casually as she could. But she was worried.
‘I guess. But that’s not why I phoned.’ He sighed. ‘Oh hell, Marie, this could have waited until tomorrow, I know, but I wanted to you to know how much I appreciate what a good mate you have been to me since . . . the accident. You’ve been my rock. To be honest, I don’t know what I would have done without you.’
‘Rubbish! You’d have done fine, and what have I done anyway? It’s Laura you should be thanking.’
‘We both know that’s not true. You’ve listened to my inane ramblings and never criticised me once. Laura has been amazing, but it’s her job. She’s paid to worry about me. You’re different. You’ve been a real friend.’
‘I am your friend, Carter, and you were my Bill’s closest mate. Would I leave you to suffer alone? Besides, if you’d ranted like that to anyone else, they’d have locked you up, and you are far too good a copper for that.’
Carter gave a low laugh. ‘You are not wrong about locking me up!’
‘Are you really that worried about tomorrow?’ she asked softly. ‘Three in the morning is a bit extreme, even for you.’
‘I’ll cope. I’m well on the mend. It’s not that.’
There was a very long silence.
‘I see them.’
Marie took a moment to realise what he meant. ‘I’m sure you do. I saw Bill for months after he died — at the station, here in the garden, in shops . . .’
‘No, I see them.’
‘But that’s natural, Carter. Denial is one of the stages of grief. You know that.’
‘But I’m not denying anything. Jesus! I know they are dead. I watched them burn, didn’t I? What I’m saying is that . . .’ Carter stumbled over his words, then whispered hopelessly, ‘I see them, really I do. And I smell them burning.’